Good Natured Contempt
by K'Arthur
Summary: Pre-SIII: Percival and Borus weren't always the best of friends...


_A/N: Dedicated to my dear friend Firstgold._

_**Good-Natured Contempt**_

_**In Solis 468**_

Captain Galahad frowned at the two squires so deeply that his eyebrows nearly knit into one. These two, Fraulein and Redrum, had nothing but the highest potential to excel in the knighthood. They were both well liked by the others, had shown the ability to lead and were exceptionally talented in riding and swordsmanship, respectively. Unfortunately, they also despised each other with a hate so deep that it disrupted training sessions and had caused the others in their class to form factions of sorts.

Their latest escapade involved a barroom brawl the night before. Who started it and who ended it did not matter to the knight captain. Twenty of his best squires had been involved, led by these two idiots on a quest for more stupidity. The others had already been send to scrub the floors of their sponsoring knights' quarters and the walls of the kitchen but Galahad knew to stop this for good, he had to stop this ridiculous rivalry.

"Sir Galahad—" Redrum started.

"Speak not, squire."

Fraulein tried not to laugh—and failed.

"Silence!" the Knight Captain shouted. Anger filled his features and voice with such force that both of the delinquents almost had to take a step back from him. "I have personally spoken to you both twice. Your sponsoring knights have dealt with you on numerous occasions and despite punishments, this continues. I am therefore imposing a sentence on you. You both will be locked in the dungeon, in the same cell, until you can tolerate the other. I'm not asking for friendship. I'm asking for unity between my knights."

-----------

"I get the bed," Redrum said, looking at the single wooden board hanging from the wall. "Pig farmers should be used to sleeping on barn floors anyway."

Fraulein leaned on the opposite wall. "I figured rich brats would be used to it. Especially those who like to get drunk and pass out on the floor of some maid's bedroom."

"Shut up. I don't want to talk to you!" Redrum replied, brushing his blonde hair from his face as he took a seat on the rough wooden plank.

"You're the one who started the conversation."

"And I'm ending it."

"Fine."

"FINE."

-----------

Hours passed in silence as Redrum sat on the plank and Fraulein leaned on the wall. They didn't look at each other. They didn't speak. They just stared off into the distance until food arrived. It wasn't much—little more than prisoners' meager rations.

Fraulein took the tray from the guard and began to eat, his dark hair concealing the dirt from the dungeon rather well. "I'll save your share."

"It looks disgusting. I'm not touching it."

"It's the only food you're going to get. Do you think while we're out on a campaign you'll be dining on steak and wine?"

"I'll bring my own."

"Spoiled brat," Fraulein scoffed.

"Just because I have standards does not make me a brat."

"Not appreciating what is offered to you does, though."

"Fine, give it here. I'll choke it down."

"I wouldn't want to inconvenience you, Lord Redrum," Fraulein drawled, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Don't call me that," the blonde said, taking his slice of meat and bread from the tray.

"Then what should I call you? Spoiled blonde brat who should be at home waiting for someone to cook him a decent meal? That's just too bloody long."

"Borus," he replied in between bites. The food was awful, but he was hungry. "My name is Borus."

"I didn't know rich men gave their second sons first names," Fraulein teased. "How interesting."

"Shut up," he said before a pause. "What's yours?"

"Pig farmer. That's what my family calls me. Or perhaps they should, since that's what you call me."

"I'm being serious," Borus said, retrieving his glass of water from the tray.

"So am I."

"Come on, tell me your name."

Fraulein took his glass and set the tray down, to resume leaning on the wall. "Ironic, isn't it? We were in the same page class for four years and we've been studying as squires under two of Galahad's top lieutenants for the last two and yet we don't know each other's names?"

"I've heard it. I just don't remember it."

"Because we have no need to remember them," Fraulein said, holding his glass up as if offering a toast to an invisible friend.

"And why is that?"

"We don't like each other."

"True."

Fraulein yawned. "I'm going to sleep."

"Against the wall?" Borus asked.

"Pig farmers can sleep standing up. It's a special skill, handed down from generations of old, you know."

"Suit yourself."

"Well I'm not sharing that bed with you."

"I wouldn't have let you."

"Fine."

"Good night."

"Whatever."

-----------

Fraulein didn't get any sleep. He didn't want to sleep. He just wanted to get out of there and get back to training. Unfortunately, he also didn't want to play nice with Redrum, so that complicated the situation. A guard came to check on them in the morning and offer more food. It was less rank than the last batch that had been sent down. Fraulein considered eating all of it, but left the share for his cellmate, who some how managed to remain asleep.

When Borus finally awakened, Fraulein sat next to him on the plank. "Food came an hour ago. I saved yours."

"Why?"

"Because even if I think you're a good for nothing rich boy with an attitude problem, you're also a knight."

Borus sat up. "You didn't sleep."

"I couldn't."

"So that tale about pig farmers…?"

Fraulein rolled his eyes. "You're a quick one, Redrum. I'll give you that."

"Well…why don't you take the bed for the day and sleep. I'll sit up and keep watch."

"Right, because we're so likely to be attacked in a dungeon."

"Hey—I was…"

"I know. Offer accepted."

The two squires switched places and Fraulein managed to get a good few hours of sleep. When he awoke, Redrum was sitting on the floor, drawing something in the dirt with a stick.

"What're you doing?" Fraulein asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Redrawing a battle map."

"Are we under attack?" Fraulein smirked.

"No, a famous battle. I'm seeing how I would do it differently."

"Which one?"

"Shasarazade, from the Toran Liberation War."

"But they won."

"The Liberation Army did. I'm seeing how I'd do it differently if I were Sonya Shulen."

Fraulein considered a moment. "First of all, you'd need to be a lot more attractive."

"Don't you take anything seriously?"

"Yes, but an eighteen-year-old boy who is close to being knighted, playing in the dirt and imagining he is a beautiful woman in command of the Scarlet Moon Empire's naval forces is not something to be taken seriously."

"Point taken," Borus said before wiping the scene from his dirt palette with his hand.

"But what would you have done differently?"

"Now you care?"

"No, I'm just curious."

"I would have taken out their commander and strategist. The rest of that army were whatever village idiots got loose, so the resistance would have died with them."

Fraulein frowned. "Well, I'm not as well read as you, Lord Redrum, but if I recall correctly, their strategist was incapacitated by one of their own and the Liberation Army had quite a few talented leaders as well as soldiers at that point in the war."

"I forgot about that. But I'd still kill them both—maybe earlier on, when they first defeated Kwanda Rosman. Besides, incapacitated doesn't mean much of anything for a strategist. They can still give orders lying on their backs."

"Ah, so right you are. Perhaps if you'd been there, dressed as Sonya Shulen, you'd have changed the course of history!" Fraulein laughed. "I think you'd need a different set of armor, though. I believe the fair lady admiral actually fought in a skirt!"

Borus sighed, and a long pause held. Finally he said, "We may have our own Sonya Shulen soon, you know."

"Hmm? How's that?" Fraulein said, honestly interested in the information.

"Captain Galahad has a new page. One he's training himself. It's a girl."

"A girl?"

"Yeah. She's supposed to be really good, too. I've seen her spar with Galahad and I heard Lord Harras saying that she's Wyatt Lightfellow's daughter. Apparently Galahad has been training her since her father died."

"Wyatt's daughter? If she's anything like I've heard her father was she's be a fantastic knight."

Redrum nodded. "She practices in the small courtyard with Galahad, Pelize or Harras in the evenings—normally when we're eating."

"How do you know?"

"I watch from the stables."

Fraulein smiled as he leaned back, resting his weight on his hands. "I'm glad that our fair country is finally catching up with the rest of the continent in allowing women into the armed forces. It gets rather dull around here with only the maids."

"Yeah, she's a good fighter but she's pretty too. I bet she'll be a real looker when she grows up."

"And here I thought Lord Borus only liked warrior women from Toran?" Fraulein grinned.

Redrum actually laughed at that. "What sort of women do you like?"

"All of them, to be honest."

"No, you must have a certain type…"

"Genuine," Fraulein answered with finality. "I like women who are not afraid to act as they would when my back is turned. I can't stand going to those balls and having empty-headed heiresses pawing all over me."

"Me either," Borus admitted. "They only wish to be seen with a knight. They care not above that, it seems."

"Indeed."

The two young men stared into the dirt—until Fraulein spoke. "I have a proposition for you, Redrum."

"What is it?"

"I believe Galahad is right. We need to make our peace to be effective knights and leaders. However, I really have no desire to go back upstairs and assist the others in the tasks they have been given as punishment for our bad behavior."

Redrum grinned. "I see where you are going."

"Do you, now?" the dark haired squire teased. "I thought rich boys needed candles to light their ways in the dark?"

"We do," Borus replied, realizing his comrade wasn't being hateful in the slightest. "But at least we don't need to worry about tripping over the pigs and landing in the slop."

"Touché," Fraulein said with a kindly smile. "Well, then…allow us to pretend to dislike each other more than ever until Sunday at the least."

Redrum offered his hand. "Agreed."

"My name is Percival," he said as he shook the other's hand. "And my family raises corn and horses, not pigs."


End file.
